


Five Things That Happened After the Movie Ended

by teand



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: 5 Things, M/M, Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teand/pseuds/teand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wasn't running away, no matter what Stark said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Happened After the Movie Ended

**ONE**

Steve wasn't running away, no matter what Stark said. It was just... well, there were things he needed to find out about this new world he'd woken up in and he wanted at least some of the discovery uncoloured by Tony Stark's privilege. Or damage.

His friendship... his memories of his friendship with Howard meant he'd have to deal with both privilege and damage eventually if the Avengers Initiative was to continue but the great thing about eventually was that it wasn't here and now. Here and now, he needed to get away.

Not for long. He'd be back in New York to help with clean up before the politicians finished arguing about where the money would come from. Well, Captain America would be back to help with clean up. This trip was for Steve Rogers.

He had his bike – which he hadn't let Stark "improve" no matter how helpful the other man had been when he'd bought it – and he had a rectangle of metal and plastic he still wasn't quite convinced was a phone, and he had a SHIELD operative keeping a close eye on him. To give SHIELD credit, Steve hadn't seen an operative but he wasn't stupid enough to believe Colonel Fury would just let him drive away. As he couldn't decide if he was annoyed or comforted by that knowledge, he stopped thinking about it.

According the files he'd been given, Gabe Jones had been buried in Rutland Vermont back in 2004. Gabe's wasn't the closest grave to SHIELD headquarters although he was the closest of the Howling Commandos. Steve knew that actually going out to the Long Island National Cemetary wouldn't make his dead any more dead, but he couldn't face it. Not yet. Gabe's wife, Irene, on the other hand, was still alive in the Mountain View Center in Rutland and he thought that talking to her might give him a bit of closure. And, even though it felt kind of weird just thinking about it, he was looking forward to talking to someone his own age.

He was in Vermont, heading up Highway 7 when he heard the sirens and nearly ditched the bike. Fish-tailing on the gravel shoulder, he fought it back under control, cut the engine, and sat breathing heavily, the pounding of his heart almost drowning out the sound of the police car pulling up behind him. The medics at SHIELD had called it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -- in his day they called it battle fatigue – and had seemed slightly insulted when he'd exhibited no symptoms after being thawed. Seemed he could take HYDRA and – what had Stark called it? -- being a capsicle in stride. An alien invasion and a police siren...

Keeping his shaking hands well out from his sides, he pulled off his sunglasses and got off the bike.

"You got a death wish, son?"

"Sir?" The state trooper was an older man, grey hair, a little paunchy. His partner was a Negro woman and while he'd seen other women, other Negro women, in uniform in New York, no one was trying to kill him right now so he took a moment to appreciate how things had changed. Well, the female trooper was standing behind her open door in such a way that Steve figured she had her weapon ready to shoot should he prove to be a danger to her partner, but no one was _actively_ trying to kill him.

"You know what happens to your head if you hit the road? Your skull cracks like a melon and your brains make a meat slick all over my nice clean highway. Which, is why we have helmet laws in Vermont. And..." He glanced at the bike's plate. "...in New York. And in Massachusetts which you had to drive through to get here from New York. You been drinking?"

"No, sir." Helmet laws?

The trooper pushed his broad brimmed hat back on his head and stared at Steve, eyes narrowed. "No," he said after a long moment, "I don't believe you have been. License and registration, son." When Steve handed both over he growled, "Don't go anywhere." Walked back and handed them to his partner who slid into the patrol car.

Steve really hoped that his name going into the system wouldn't result in a sudden SHIELD presence in rural Vermont and orders to return back to the city. Stark would hear about it then Steve would never hear the end of it.

"You military, son?"

"Yes, sir." Essentially. He figured. Sort of.

They stood together and watched a pickup truck pass, heading south.

"Just get back from overseas?" The trooper's voice was calm now. No, _calming_ , as though he thought Steve might lose it at any moment.

Steve's hands had stopped shaking so he flexed his fingers and listened for approaching helicopters. "Not just..."

"Brad!" Half out of the car, the female trooper beckoned her partner back.

"Stay there," he said, rolled his eyes, and went.

If SHIELD came, they'd come from the southeast so Steve watched the sky instead of the police. He could hear them though. The disbelief. The hurried words of explanation. A resounding and convinced, "No shit."

He turned when he heard the car door slam to see them both walking toward him.

"Steve Rogers?"

"Yes." Right now, that was all he wanted to be. Steve Rogers. Just a guy heading out to touch base with the wife of an old friend. Not Captain America.

"Captain America?"

"Yes." He didn't want to be idolized or wondered at or thanked...

"My brother..." The female trooper shook her head, thrust his license and registration at him, and started again. "My brother is on the NYPD. He was there, on the street by Stark Tower when the aliens attacked. He says you saved his life. Thank you!"

...because when he was thanked for saving a life, all he could think about was the lives he didn't save. The little boy and his mother under the overturned bus. The little girl and her father cut to shreds by falling glass.

"Word of advice, Captain; find someone to talk to about it."

He stared at the male trooper, at Brad although he couldn't even think of a state trooper by his first name no matter how casual the world had become, and wondered if he'd spoken his thoughts aloud.

"It's all over your face, son." Just for a moment the trooper's eyes locked on something Steve couldn't see. Then they snapped back to meet Steve's, his mouth twisted up into something sympathetic although not quite a smile. "There's always someone you can't save. Someone whose death makes you forget all the ones you've saved and makes you ask, why me instead of him."

"Or her."

Steve turned to the female trooper who shrugged, a barely there up and down of her shoulders that suggested too much weight for a larger movement. "Or her," he agreed, squaring his own shoulders.

Another pickup passed. Half a dozen crows began complaining in the pines. The male trooper cleared his throat. "So here's what I'm going to do, Captain Rogers. As you may be the only person in these United States I'd believe when given the old _I didn't know I needed a helmet in Vermont_ , I'm going to write you up a warning and I'm going to give you directions to Pro Cycle – it's just off seven in North Clarendon – where you're going to buy a helmet and then you're going to put it on and you're going to keep it on every time you're sitting on that two wheeled death pony of yours. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't need to call me, sir. My parents were married."

Steve actually felt his lips twitch as he accepted the ticket. "Yes, Sarge."

The trooper stared at him for a long moment, then held out his hand. "Bradly Morris, Sergeant, 24th Infantry, Desert Storm. Glad you made it back, Cap."

"Thank you, Sergeant." When he turned to the female trooper, she was smiling broadly – she had a beautiful smile -- her hand out as well. It was strange shaking hands with a woman and he was deliberately gentle as he closed his fingers around hers.

"Lieutenant Haley Rush, 1st and 7th, USMC, Iraq. Oorah!"

"After his time, Hals."

"I think I got it." Marines, Steve _had_ shaken hands with before. He tightened his grip before letting go.

Lieutenant Rush opened her mouth... and snapped it closed again as all three of them heard the crackle of the radio inside the patrol car.

"That sounds familiar." Strangely familiar given the intervening seventy years.

The sergeant snorted. "Reception in the mountains, less than great. It was great meeting you, Captain Rogers, but duty calls." He sketched a salute and the two of them turned and ran back to the car, peeling out onto the road a moment later.

But they both waved as they sped past.

Steve waved back. Took a look at the directions to Pro Cycle, folded the ticket and put it carefully into his pocket, slid his sunglasses back on then swung a leg over the bike. As he pulled out onto the highway, he realized the bands of guilt around his chest had loosened and he could breath a little easier. Thor was a... legend, and Dr. Banner was an accident, and Barton and Miss Romanova were secret agents, and Tony was a billionaire, playboy, genius, philanthropist in a metal suit. He was just a soldier and for the first time since they thawed him out, he didn't feel so completely alone.

 

**TWO**

It made sense that Tony Stark and Bruce Banner got along. Separately, they were very smart men. Together, they were... well, two very smart men with a surprising amount in common who'd bonded in a way no one had anticipated.

"That's..." Agent Hill closed her mouth, cocked her head and tried again, with no more success. Finally, she sighed and said, "What the hell is that?"

"Interestingly enough," Pepper told her, "that's exactly what I asked."

"And?"

"And apparently it's a cyborg pigeon."

In fairness, it looked exactly like a cyborg pigeon. Hill's question had been more an expression of disbelief than a need for enlightenment. "New York doesn't have enough pigeons, Stark had to build one?"

Pepper sighed again. "It wasn't just Tony. Bruce was in on it too. I think they were trying, in their own way, to help with the clean up. It eats trash, irradiates it, and..." She waved a hand. "...excretes an entirely sterile ash."

"Please, tell me Dr. Banner wasn't involved in the irradiation part of the build."

"I wish I could."

"So the ash...?"

"Tiny residue of gamma radiation, yes."

"Is the ash dangerous?"

"Tony says it isn't."

"And Dr. Banner?"

"Says Tony is a bad influence."

While undoubtedly true, that wasn't entirely helpful. Hill shelved the issue of the ash for the moment, frowned at the pigeon, and said, "And it's big and green because... No, wait." Holding up a hand, she cut Pepper off. "Because some of Dr. Banner's DNA was accidentally used in the non-robotic parts." She could hear Stark declaring it an accident.

Pepper nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"How did they get it operational so quickly?"

"They're very smart."

Actually, she knew that. "Okay, why is it eating that Buick?"

"Tony programed in the definitions of what it was to consider trash." Folding her arms, Pepper shifted her weight on a pair of shoes that had probably set Stark back more than a few hundred dollars. Given what Pepper had no doubt dealt with to get them, Hill couldn't help but think Stark had gotten off easy. She, personally, would have wanted a small tropical island. Although they were very nice shoes.

"And they called SHIELD because...?"

"I called SHIELD." Pepper smiled tightly. "Because it got away and they can't catch it."

"What happens if you go after it?"

"It walks away. Very fast."

"Can it fly?"

"It hasn't yet."

"Uh huh." The passenger side door of the Buick disappeared and a fine plume of pale powder poured from the back end of the pigeon. "And where are our two mad scientists now?"

"In the lab. Building a cyborg cat."

"To catch the pigeon."

It wasn't a question but Pepper answered anyway. "Yes."

"All right then..." As the large, green, cyborg pigeon ripped chunks of upholstery foam from the front seats, Hill called for a containment team. "ETA, twelve minutes," she said, and added, "Allowing those two to continue their play-dates was _such_ a good idea..."

 

 

**THREE**

In a world where nine out of ten people had defaulted to an old fashioned ringing telephone, Darcy continued to assign songs as personal ring tones. So when Stairway to Heaven interrupted some fairly intensive brooding over the paperwork spread out on her tiny kitchen table, she knew the call was from one of the three people she'd actually be willing to talk to in this mood. Okay, maybe two since her mother was perfectly capable of reading her mind over the phone.

"Hey, Jane. Wha..."

"Thor was in New York."

"Yeah, I know. I saw him on TV." Jane sounded furious although Darcy couldn't understand why, given that the whole thrust of her work for the last year had been getting Thor back.

"Thor was in New York and no one told me!"

Well, that explained that. She scowled down at the letterhead on the closest piece of paper. "Those bastards."

"I know, right. And not only was Thor here and no one told me he was here, but they sent me down to South America on some stupid needed-me-desperately consulting case which was clearly a way to keep me from knowing Thor was here until it was too late because the telescope ate our bandwidth and there wasn't even television reception so I didn't know he was in New York until he was gone!"

Darcy was a little impressed Jane could exclaim that entire sentence. On one breath. She drummed her fingertips against the signature on the cover letter. The man in black had to know Jane would find out about Thor's visit. The alien invasion and the battle for New York were on constant replay on every channel and all over the net. The moment Jane got back to New Mexico and the – admittedly spotty – connection to the larger world, she'd see her missing boyfriend hammering aliens in a truly god-like and unmistakable manner. "I don't think they were trying to keep you in the dark," she said slowly. "I think they were trying to keep you safe."

"What, they sent Queens to South America too and I didn't notice? Darcy, I was in New Mexico. The attack was in New York. As much as I might have wanted to see Thor, I wouldn't have dove headfirst into an alien invasion in order to do so."

"Really?" In Darcy's experience, genius and common sense were sort of mutually exclusive. She had time to read the job offer again while Jane thought it over.

"Fine. Maybe. But for entirely scientific reasons. Information on how Thor got back to Earth could be instrumental in..." Jane's voice trailed off and, in spite of distance and technology, Darcy nearly felt her sigh. "They thought the aliens could get to Thor through me."

"That's my guess, yeah."

"Because they knew where he landed the first time..."

"Maybe." Loki's involvement wasn't common knowledge but Darcy knew what to look for and she'd found three of the sites speculating on the identity of the man with the truly triumphant horned hat before the jack-booted thugs had vanished them.

"He didn't even phone."

He. Thor. "He knows how to use a phone?"

"Someone could have pushed the buttons and put the phone in his hand." The anger had faded and she sounded sad. "It's not like they didn't know where I was."

"True that." Pulling a beer from her tiny fridge, Darcy listened to Jane talk about Thor, about her work, about the time she'd spent with Thor, about the new data servers, telescopes, physicists she'd found when she returned to New Mexico, about missing Thor. When Jane finally left to harangue her new staff – who might understand what a charge-coupled device was without interpretive dance but who wouldn't get it when Dr. Foster stared nostalgically at a box of pop-tarts – Darcy shuffled the papers into a tidy pile and began writing her letter of acceptance.

It was a good job. Entry level, sure, but it paid well and SHIELD would find her an apartment and allow time for grad school. It didn't really matter they'd offered it to her as much because she knew too much – there were three agents at her graduation ceremony, for crying out loud -- as because she really was just that amazing. SHIELD needed her. They might be kick-ass at that whole saving the world thing, but their dealing with people living in the world thing needed work.

 

**FOUR**

"You lied to us."

Fury slowly raised both hands, palms out, fingers spread, well aware a sudden movement would catapult them into a situation where at least three office betting pools would have to pay out. "Stand down, Agent. It was necessary."

One auburn brow rose. "Necessary?"

"Stark and Captain Rogers needed the push, needed something to get them the rest of the way past the pissing contest they had going on." He didn't have to explain himself to her. On the other hand, explaining himself would be one hell of a lot easier than dealing with the fall-out from not explaining himself. "Once Ironman and Captain America were fighting together, Banner and Thor would fall into place." Fall. Perhaps not the best choice of words, all things considered. "It was Agent Coulson's idea."

The brow came down and her eyes narrowed. "To lie to us?"

"To make it personal and..." Fury knew Agent Romanova had no actual super-powers and while her training had been frighteningly thorough, so had his. That said, he didn't see her move and barely got in one defensive blow before he hit the floor, gasping for breath.

"Personal?" she snarled, one hand on the door. "I'm the one who had to tell Clint, Coulson was dead!"

Fury got to his feet as she left, right arm clamped against his side, grunt of pain covered by the slam of reinforced steel against reinforced steel. Later, he and the Black Widow would have _another_ discussion about ass kicking and the chain of command. Later. "That," he muttered, favouring what experience told him were two cracked ribs, "went better than expected."

 

**FIVE**

"I want to tell them." Clint ran his thumb over the loose skin covering Phil's knuckles and tried to ignore how his grip on the other man's hand was the only thing keeping him from flying apart. "I want to make it official and tell everyone. I want to take out a fucking ad in the New York Times. I want marry you and..."

Phil's fingers twitched in his and he looked up, meeting the familiar grey gaze. They'd just taken him off the respirator and he still looked like shit, but he was breathing on his own and he was alive and likely to stay that way and that was all Clint cared about. All the emotional debris that came with being trapped in his own body, with turning his bow on his own people, got buried six feet under _Phil Coulson is alive_.

When Phil dragged his tongue over his lips, Clint actually let go of his hand long enough to lift the straw in the plastic cup of ice water to Phil's mouth.

It hurt him to swallow.

Dead men were beyond pain.

Pain was a good thing.

He took Phil's sigh of relief as thanks. Took the "Why?" he breathed out on the next exhale the way it was meant.

Not _why do you want to marry me?_ Phil knew the answer to that.

_Why now?_

_Why now when we've kept it between ourselves for so long?_

Clint pressed a kiss against Phil's knuckles, took a deep breath and released it. "Because if this happens again..."

Phil's brows rose.

"Shut-up." His lips twitched into the closest thing to a smile he'd managed since Loki's spear. "If this happens again..." Another breath. Another release. "...to either of us, whoever gets left behind, they... he..." Another kiss. "... _I_ should have the right to mourn."

After a long moment, Phil gritted his teeth, closed his fingers all the way around Clint's, and said, "Yes."


End file.
